


Home Front

by TheGeekyLibrarian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekyLibrarian/pseuds/TheGeekyLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have been married for a long time, and some would almost say they were happy together. But then, the past comes back to haunt them, when Arya learns of her husbands role in the infamous Red Wedding. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Written for a prompt on the asoiafkinkmeme</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Front

It was late in the evening when he could finally return to his chambers, and he was more than a little surprised to find his wife there waiting for him.

"Arya."

He was careful not to let the surprise seep into his voice, but he suspected she knew regardless. His wife was nothing if not perceptive, and they had been married for enough years now that they had come to know each other well, surely better than either of them had ever anticipated. But she rarely waited up for him, and he did not expect her to. If fact, his wife had rarely done anything of what was expected of her, and it had surprised him greatly when she had agreed to marriage as a way to stabilize the relationship between their two families. More than once she had made him regret that decision, but even at her most stubborn, even when he had threatened out loud to have her flogged for her disobedience, deep down he had cared for her. He could never be certain that his feelings, whatever they were, were reciprocated...god's knew his wife had learned to wear masks almost as well as he did, but he thought that in those rare moments when he showed her tenderness, he could see a glimmer of something foreign in her eyes, and she did, in her own way, repay whatever kindness he showed her.

Arya Stark had grown into beauty, unlike her sister, who had always possessed it. He had heard people mention her resemblance to Lyanna, and he could see it now that the scrawny, horse faced youth he had once known had grown into a woman. Arya was beautiful in the way that Winter was beautiful, with pale skin and dark hair, and piercing steel grey eyes, the opposite of any beauty that had ever come out of the Westerlands. More importantly, she had kept a head for strategy and tactics, and, until she was convinced to assume her duties as Lady of the Rock, she did not have a care in the world for dresses and jewels. Although, her husband thought to himself, she had learned to wear them well...

"How would you like to die, my lord?"

Her voice was even, but still powerful enough to tear him unceremoniously from what he conceded to himself was a very pleasant train of though. The question was so sudden and unexpected that it took him a moment to process, and in that time his wife betrayed no emotion. In fact, she did not even take her eyes off the flames, but he could tell that she knew perfectly well what kind of effect her words had on him. He turned to look at her, briefly wondering if he had misheard her, or if she even said anything at all.

"What kind of question is that?"

When she does not answer him, he brushes her question off as one of her more peculiar whims, and continues across the room to pour himself a goblet of wine from the carafe on the side table.

"Walder Frey is dead." She continued in the same even tone, just as he finished pouring the wine, and turned to join her by the fire.

"I know," he replied, his voice betraying that he was wary of her, and of where she is going with the conversation. In his mind he starts to match pieces of information and put them together.

"I thought that old goat would outlive us all." He added, his words ending in something resembling a bark-like laugh, that, for all his care, does not completely erase the wariness from his voice.

The ghost of a smile crosses his wife's face, and her eyes flicker towards him before moving back to follow the flames in the fireplace.

"Oh no, my lord...all men must die."

He felt the uneasiness settle like a heavy cloak about his shoulders, and looked over at his wife again. She had her quiet moments, most of them laced with melancholy and regret, but that was not what he detected in her voice now. No, she sounded almost threatening, and yet...

"You obviously have something on your mind." He concluded in a tone that normally brokered no opposition. But his wife merely smiled, as she turned her head slightly to survey him.

"You and I have both watched men die," she began. She was calm, and freely ignored his tone, although she doubtlessly knew what it meant. For once, she knew that she had the upper hand.

"You know, it never ceases to surprise me how fearful people become when they realize their end is near..."

"Where are you going with this?"

As fascinated as he was by his wife's demeanor, he was growing impatient with her.

"When he was on his deathbed, Walder Frey finally admitted that he was not alone in murdering my brother..."

She paused, and looked up at him, her eyes shining like steel in the firelight.

"Gods know why...perhaps he thought he would be spared some torment or other," she continued, sounding almost amused.

"He confessed what most already suspected, that although he did the deed, he would never have dared to defy a sacred tradition, had it not been for a promise made him that he would not stand alone in the aftermath."

She paused again, and when she spoke the final words, her anger came through as a slight tremble in her voice, despite how adept she had become at masking it. Tywin scoffed at her use of the word sacred. Didn't his wife know that nothing was sacred anymore?

"Walder Frey murdered my brother, and my mother, while they were guests in his house. But the order to kill them...came from you."

 

He had looked away from her as she spoke, resting his eyes on the fire, but now he could feel her eyes bore into him, looking for any trace of emotion or recognition.

"Do you expect me to deny any involvement?" He asked, his voice an icy calm, now that his wife had played her highest card

"Of course not." His wife replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added:

"I asked you how you wanted to die, not to beg forgiveness."

"You mean to kill me, then?"

"Yes."

A rare smile graced the old lion's face, and it was not a pleasant expression.

"Truly, Arya...after all these years?" It was a long time since he had let such an amount of disdain seep into his voice. She may be his wife, there may have been times when he had cared for her and she for him, but he was also a lion of the Rock, as she was a wolf of the North...and a wolf could not kill a lion on its own. Whether she liked it or not, Arya Stark was a lone wolf trapped among lions in Casterly Rock. Her murder plans were folly, she must have realized that...

She moved swiftly, so quick that all he saw before she was over him was a black shadow covering the fire. She was on top of him before he knew it, crouched in his lap, her body obscuring his view, so that all he saw was her, framed by the glow emitting from the fireplace. Most of all he saw two fierce, grey eyes staring directly at him. And for the briefest of seconds, Tywin Lannister felt fear. But he was quick to recover, and reached out to stop her from getting too close...he would apparently have to teach his wife what the price of treachery and disobedience was, and even though he took no pleasure in physically harming her, he was no stranger to it.

Then he felt the icy caress of steel against his throat. He did not have to see the blade to know it, he had been threatened before, by foolish and desperate men, and he knew how to deal with them. But not this, he realized... not his wife. Not _this_ wife.

"You ask me that?" She almost whispered.

"You murdered my family! Do you expect me to forget the truth now that I've learned it?!? I could no more do that than I could forgive you for it. Now, if you do not make a choice of how you wish to end you life, I will choose your end for you, and I swear to you I will make it an unpleasant one. "

Now it was her turn to smile, and it was a smile unlike any he had seen before, made out of bloodlust and triumph.

 

"Arya.." he began, looking up at her.

"If you do this, you will become a fugitive again. Is that truly what you want?"

He reached out with one hand to caress that of her hands which held the blade. He could feel the blade move slightly against his skin as her grip tightened in preparation for a struggle, but he made no move to try and force it from her.   

"As if you care about what I want!"

"Arya, ten years have passed since we were married... did you think it never crossed my mind that you would someday discovered what role I played in the death of your family? And do you think I hold such power as to make a man act against his will...? _Walder Frey_ wanted your brother dead, for the perceived slight against his family. I wanted to rid myself of an opponent... The saying goes that if you find the enemy of your enemy, you also find an ally. And that I did."

The pressure against his throat lessened only slightly, but the fact that she was listening encouraged him.

"If you wanted my family dead, why in the seven hells did you suggest marriage to me?!?" Her voice was no less hostile, but she was definitely listening.

"I was unwilling to enter into a conflict with your younger brother. Marriage was the best solution to avoid another civil war... you know this, Arya." He allowed himself another small smile, and added:

"Don't tell me you've grown into a romantic..."

The knife pressed more firmly against his throat, and he could feel a drop of blood start to trickle down below the collar of his tunic.

"Don't flatter yourself." His wife snarled in response, but he thought he could detect a faltering in her voice.

In an effort to calm her, he let one finger rub a pattern along the back of her hand.

"As you command, my lady."

The knife eased off a little, but he let his fingers continue the pattern, to hopefully buy some time.

 

"How _did_ you learn of Walder Frey's deathbed confession, if I might ask?"

"Word of such treason travels fast...and I've become quite good at listening to what people whisper about in the corners of the world."

"I married a dangerous woman." He concluded, in a voice that sounded pleased more than anything.

"That you did." An odd smile, not one of malice like the one before it, crept up on her lips, and she sought his eyes with her own.

"Ten years..." she began, before her voice faded, and she looked away again.

"It's a long time..." He nodded. Then, he paused for a moment to consider, before risking a bolder gesture, moving his hand from hers and upwards to caress her face. She stiffened at his attempt, as did the knife, which in turn made him freeze in mid-motion, and for a long moment they were locked in that strange embrace.

"I didn't even think I'd be alive ten years after the war..." Her voice was distant, and it was clear that she was no longer speaking directly to him.

"Neither did I..."

That seemed to bring her back, and the hand holding the knife relaxed a little. He took that as encouragement, and ran his hand down her cheek, then down her neck before letting it rest at the base, where her neck and shoulder joined.

"But we did, didn't we, Arya?"

He caught her eyes, and held them, firmly, as only he could, and after a few moments he felt the pressure of the knife ease off entirely, as both her hands dropped to her sides. When she exhaled it sounds like something between a sigh and a sob, but her voice was firm when she said:

"I want to know why."

He let his hand drop to a rest on the arm of the chair, and surveyed his wife carefully. She still held the knife, and while it was no longer in immediate proximity to his neck, one wrong move could still cause him to end up with a slit throat.

"It was a war strategy, Arya. Your brother was gaining support for his claim, and thus he was becoming a threat... When he slighted the Freys by marrying that Westerling girl, I saw an opportunity to turn the tables to my advantage. I suggested to Walder Frey that there was a way to repay the King in the North for breaking his promise, and he agreed to my suggestion..."

"He murdered those who came to him under guest right!"

Her voice rose to an angry scream, and for a moment he thought she was going to burst into tears. But the sob turned to a sharp intake of breath, and she looked at him, as if she begged him to challenge her.  

This was a stalemate, not a victory. He _had_ married a dangerous woman, just as Arya Stark had married a dangerous man. But their life together had become a habit now...a comfortable habit, that he would prefer not to break. And he believed his wife felt the same...if she had not, he would most likely have been dead by now.

He reached for her empty hand, his fingers braiding themselves between hers, and when he spoke it was not to challenge. The disdain was long gone from his voice, and his voice was calm and matter-of-factly.  

"Yes, Walder Frey broke the tradition of guest right. He was not an honorable man, and I knew that... I admit, I used that knowledge to my own advantage, to rid myself of a threat. But _I_ did not murder your family."

She remained silent, but her eyes shot daggers against him while she contemplated his words. He did not know how long they remained like that, quiet and unmoving, but it was long enough that he found it difficult not to get lost in his wife's eyes. After a long while, he though he saw her give an almost invisible nod, as if she accepted his reasoning, and her eyes softened a little after that.

It was a stalemate, not a victory, but in the end it bought them both some time, and even a few hard-fought moment of peace... and perhaps, in the end, that was the best they could hope for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt that inspired this was: "Some would almost say they were happy together, and then Arya learns of his role in the Red Wedding."
> 
> This turned into a much longer fic than I had originally planned, and I've written and rewritten this half a dozen times...hopefully, in the end I managed to make this scenario at least somewhat credible.


End file.
